


one, two, three, oops

by honey_beeing



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Falling In Love, Heartbreak, It doesn't happen so just an implication, M/M, One Night Stands, This Is STUPID, Threesome - M/M/M, What Was I Thinking?, but not between Harry or Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_beeing/pseuds/honey_beeing
Summary: Confused, Wesley nods slowly. A sizzle of jealousy goes through him. He's known Harry longer and he's known nothing but the man's name, and here Louis was collecting data. What was he thinking letting his incomplete one night stand and his ex meet. He hadn't even been gone one minute, and they were looking at each other like they've known each other their whole lives. How interesting.(or) a drabble based on Dodie's song 'In the Middle'.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s) (briefly)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	one, two, three, oops

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a traditional fic, so I hope you like it, I've tried something new. Feedback is appreciated! x  
> Above mentioned song is great, give it a [listen](https://open.spotify.com/track/6BBfG9FiwJhRVMCd9IYl6c?si=ozQ20By3S4ekVk0xsd1-AA)

Wesley was really, really high, or probably not high enough.

He was snogging this fit man on his couch, had his legs wrapped around the man's back and everything. To be honest, this man (he said his name was Harry, but there might be only a little truth to that) had skills. He seemed to be able to read body language, know when to ease his tongue into his mouth, where to run his hands over. But, it wasn't what Wesley could focus on. 

Initially, he had gone to the bar two streets over where there were fancy curtains and people dancing and hookahs. It was just a few minutes in when he'd sat down and this pretty man with a pretty mouth was shotgunning with him, blowing secondhand smoke into his mouth like it was a life mission to seduce him. And seduced, Wesley was.

There was not much talk on the way back. Harry and he had simply shared a look that said much more than words could and left together. It almost felt like he was unwilling, but when they got to Wesley's loft, Harry had pressed him against the door and latched his mouth onto his neck. The shock lasted for a few seconds before Wesley moved them to the sofa.

One of Harry's hands slid down to his pants, popped open the button on his jeans and drove underneath the waistband of his briefs. His fingers wiggled over his crotch, and Wesley made sure he let out a keening sound against the man's mouth in response.

Suddenly, Harry detached from him, face moving away and the hand down his pants slithering out. "This isn't working," he says, placidly. 

"No, it isn't," he agrees. There wasn't any point of an excuse. "I'm sorry."

Harry shakes his head. He climbs off of him and sits on the couch across him, feet on the floor and civil. "It's okay."

"It's not. I'm very sorry."

The man glances sidewards, giving him a once-over. "You're trying to rebound, and you're doing a really bad job."

Wesley winces and shrugs in reply. "At least I'm trying."

Harry has picked up one of his socks that rolled under the tea table and begins to unfurl them. He hums in response, bringing the sock to his foot. Then, he stops. "Do you want to pretend I'm him?" He stops, looking back at Wesley. "Or her?"

Wesley lets out a laugh of disbelief. "Him. I don't think so. You're the complete opposite of him. He's short, and angled, and has blue eyes." And he's not here right now, with me."

"How long were you together?"

Wesley frowns. "Four and a half months. I know that seems short for a one night stand to have this kind of dysfunctionality."

Harry slants his eyebrows. "I'm not judging you, man. I dunno the shit that went down 'tween the both of you."

That was the thing. No one knew how it was between them- how intense it was. How deep Wesley was in days. Maybe it was just Wesley that deep in without reciprocation. Though it would be so easy to tell a stranger this, he doesn't say anything to Harry. Just shrugs in reply with a grimace.

Harry clears his throat. "I have an idea, might be good or might be bad. But we can cross it off our bucket lists."

"What is it?"

A smirk comes onto Harry's face. "Do you wanna call him over?"

Wesley narrows his eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"To join us, of course. End product; all of us get laid conveniently."

His jaw drops open. "You mean like a three-"

"Exactly," Harry prompts with the same glint in his eye. 

And that. Might not be a bad thing. Might be an excellent thing. He hasn't seen Louis in more than a month, especially when Louis liked to come to his loft to pick up his stuff during the hours when he knew Wesley was in work. They didn't have mutual friends either. This was brilliant. So excellent. 

"Okay," he agrees breathlessly.

Harry grins and the appearance of his dimples are stumping. He smooths back his hair with one of his hands and there's a cross tattooed above the web between his thumb and index finger. "I'll nip to the loo while you can give him a ring?"

Wesley nods in compliance. "Straight and left," he points out, already reaching for the phone in his pocket. 

As Harry leaves, he throws back a thanks and roams to find the bathroom. Wesley scrolls through his contacts until he stops at Louis's name. One second of courage, he tells himself. He takes a deep breath and taps the 'Call' button before he can change his mind. The screen changes to display Louis's name in large with a menacing dial tone that follows through the speaker. 

But, one second of courage isn't ever enough. He can feel himself shaking and it takes the same one second to cut the call and throw his phone on the couch beside him. He leans back with a long sighing breath and stares at the ceiling with self-deprecating thoughts that are slowly blotting in.

Then his phone starts ringing, jerking him out of his misery. Louis's name flashes across the screen.

Just one more second of courage, he tells himself again with a smile. Then, the one second is enough to lift and call and hold it up to his ear. "Hello?" He's shamelessly breathless, but it's the first time he's smiled all day.

"Wesley, you called me first," Louis sasses back.

He hates that he's smiling and everything isn't alright. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he says. "Was about to watch Love Island."

"You hate that show," he blurts out. He's shameless. And so, so useless.

Louis laughs, it rings through the phone, into Wesley's ear and down into him. "Got nothin' to do, mate. Why?"

Wesley clenches his eyes shut, drawing in one last breath before he dies of embarrassment. "Do you wanna come over?"

"Now?" The surprise in Louis's voice resonates.

"Y-Yeah."

Louis is silent for a while, nothing but static from his end. For a second, it feels like Louis has an excuse ready. He was always one for rationality with his head on his shoulders, the one that spoke in the face of truth. The one who'll say this is a bad thing first. But, he says, "Alright."

"I'll see you?" Wesley can't keep the excitement out of his voice. 

"In twenty or less." 

Funny because it took no more than six minutes from Mayfield to Soho, and of course Wesley would know that. He's so pathetic. "One more thing," he gets in before Louis can cut the call. "I have a friend over."

"A friend?" 

"Someone I picked up at a bar," he reveals.

Louis's reply is stunted. "You wanna- the three of us?"

"If you're okay with it." He should have brought it up before he got his hopes up. If Louis rejected his advances this far into the conversations, he's done for. He'll have to rely on his left hand for a while, then.

To that, Louis lets out a hum. "I've never done anything like that before. I know you haven't either." 

"He hasn't either." 

"Well, it's new."

"I agree."

A long second stands between them. "As I said, see you in twenty." The sound of shuffling and the telltale sign of ruffling of his clothes could be heard. 

Wesley mouths out a yes and pumps his fist with gusto. "Alright," he replies cordially.

The call ends and Wesley stares at his phone in disbelief with a grin he knows there's no point in dampening down. Allegedly, he was the same way until Harry came back. "He's coming?"

Wesley draws his lips into a thin line and nods. He doesn't want a man he just met teasing him about it. "I'm peckish, might eat a few biscuits. You want anything?"

Harry shakes his head. "Go ahead, do whatever you have to. Just pretend I'm not here."

Now, that would be tough. He's nothing but a reminder of the impending threesome that's reckoned to happen in less than half-an-hour or much less if they're feeling particularly enthusiastic. He doesn't say that out loud, choosing to rather go back into his bedroom. 

He had changed his sheets before leaving, the rest of his room looked clean enough. Mostly because all the ruckus was his unfolded laundry stuffed into his wardrobe; if he were to open it now, he would be consumed by the mountain of it. He reapplies an inconspicuous fresh coat of eyeliner. He cleans up around his bathroom sink and pockets a pack of fresh mints.

When he goes back to the kitchen, he can see Harry's made himself comfortable on the sofa, laying against the armrest with his feet propped up and the length of his legs covering the entirety of the three-seater. He was a fine specimen, this man was. Wesley can't help but let his eyes run over him- a head of hair with perfect grip, blowjob lips, his shirt was unbuttoned to the apple of his chest and revealed quite the pair of pecs, long legs in jeans that didn't want to part from his skin. Jesus, he even had attractive feet.

Harry must feel the eyes on him. Because his eyes slide up, chin still tilted into his phone. "Can I help you?" There's a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Wesley shakes his head, disappears to reach for an opened pack of chocolate digestives. He's tucking in and is on his fifth biscuit when the doorbell rings. Louis had made it in fifteen minutes, bless him, or so his watch says.

He scrubs the back his hand over his mouth and brushes away the crumbs, passing a look to Harry's raised eyebrows before going to attend to the door. He doesn't make a visible gesture to straighten out, but he fights the urge to do it. The door swings to open Louis. He looks the same as he did when he last saw; except maybe his new haircut. And a new coat that engulfed him. 

"Hi," he says, out of breath.

Louis smiles plainly, even if it's a bit strained. "Hi, Wes. Gonna let me in?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wesley steps aside, pulling the door with him. 

Taking a tentative step in, Louis looks about like it's new. He walks on towards the lounge and stops short when he spots Harry. "Hello there."

Harry, who had been momentarily taken by his phone again, glances up with furrowed eyebrows. At once he seems to properly realise Louis was there, standing in front of him. In a sort of flooring way? He sits upright, staring in surprise at Louis. "Hi," his voice is barely audible. 

"What's your name?" Louis steps closer.

"Harry."

"I'm Louis."

He laughs once for no reason. "Yeah, I know," he says with more conviction than required. "I mean, I've been told."

Alarms go off in Wesley's head, but he does best to ignore them. The pair of them are staring at each other like they're aliens of the same species. He half expects them to burst out into some gibberish that'll make sense only to them.

"Can I take your coat?" He interrupts the silence.

Louis flinches, turning back to realise his ex is standing there. "Sure," he says quickly, shrugging it off his shoulders. He bunches it together and hands it to Wesley, diffidently. "Thanks."

Wesley doesn't know what's happening but he doesn't think it's going good. First of all, he doesn't know what the protocol was, what the rules were. He hooks the coat on the hanger by the door. 

When he gets back, Louis has made himself home beside Harry, making animated conversation. "Wes, did you know Harry works in the building next to where I do? How coincidental is that? And he does the cartoons in the paper on the side, how wicked!"

Confused, Wesley nods slowly. A sizzle of jealousy goes through him. He's known Harry longer and he's known nothing but the man's name, and here Louis was collecting data. What was he thinking of letting his incomplete one night stand and his ex meet? He hadn't even been gone one minute, and they were looking at each other like they've known each other their whole lives. How interesting.

"I love that bit," Louis looks to the ceiling and snaps his fingers as if it'll give him the memory. "The one with the misplaced puns! _Blunderstruck_!"

Harry lights up at that, physically levitating from the sofa. "You do?! That segment belongs to me!"

Louis smiles, his little crinkly one that'll make an iceberg a puddle. "So much! They crack me up when I've woken up on the wrong side o' the bed!" He casually cups Harry's knee. "I have you to thank for the people in my life. God knows I would've scared them off with my monstrousness every day."

Harry smiles with his stupid dimples. Stupid, stupid dimples. He keens under the attention. 

Wesley doesn't know what to do. How do they go about this? Does he randomly plop into one of their laps and begin snogging them? Does he get on his knees before them? As he recalls, he knows Louis likes that kind of thing. Does he ask them to begin? Does he ask them into his bedroom? Into his pure, threesome-free bedroom?

That's probably the best option. 

"D'you guys want tea?" He blurts out and then wants to stabs himself. 

Louis looks over at him, again like he's only realising he's there. It makes something ugly twist in his gut. He laughs shortly. "Can't say no to tea."

"I'll have some too. No sugar, thanks," Harry pipes. By the end of the night, Wesley will grow to resent him, he's sure.

Louis turns back to Harry. "Sugar in tea is minging, isn't it? I understand a bit of milk, but sugar! The blasphemy of it!"

Harry springs to reply. Great. Wesley has given them something to talk about. And focus on the task at hand.

He curses himself and plods into his kitchen, sticking the kettle on the stove and hiding there. Perhaps they'll realise he vanished and leave. It wasn't going anywhere or summat. He can't make himself get a cup for himself; too nauseous to consume anything. He shoots two tea bags into two cups and waits until the kettle screams. Through it all, he can hear them laugh and chatting in the lounge. It wasn't going the way he hoped. In his head, they would be steaming up a room already.

Goddammit. 

Wesley takes the two cups in his shaking hands and places them on the tea table across them and jumps onto the armchair nearby. They reach for them simultaneously without separating their gazes. Then, Louis looks up for a split second. "You aren't having any?"

"I stuffed myself with biscuits earlier," he answers dully. 

Louis laughs his pretty tinkling laugh and goes back to talking to the other man.

Wesley glares at him briefly, before he fleets his eyes to Harry. He's instantly scrambled, mouth going drying. The thing is- Harry was looking at his ex-boyfriend like he couldn't help that the moon was lighting his face. He knows what that means and where it could lead. He knows because he was the one looking at Louis like that a few months ago.

Suddenly he can't breath; the room is too small and he can't hear what they're talking about, and their words are smudging and becoming heavy. There's something lodged in his throat and he choked on it. His face feels on fire and he can't bloody breath.

"I'm gonna head out for a second," he calls out, hoping he sounds normal. He's already moving to the door before they can answer. 

Peculiarly, Harry is the one who interjects. "Where are you going? At this time?"

Wesley shrugs, remembering to take deep breaths as he squeezes his keys in hands and slides a coat on. "Oh, you know. Running low on lube." He looks up to see Louis's face is blank and Harry's is concerned. "Don't wait for me, if you don't want to," he adds since he's a fool. Because although he hates that Louis knows where he keeps his supply and they might take him on his offer and spread themselves out in his bed, he knows there's nothing to do about it. 

Then, he runs. He runs for his life- from his life. He runs without direction and till his lungs are screaming and he can't see. He weaves between people until it's reduced to jogging and his body is forcing him to keel over. He halts by the curb and clutches his knees, bending over. The familiar prickle of tears turns everything before his eyes into a hazy sheen.

He can't cry now, not in public. He couldn't cry at home either where he'd invited two people to love it up.

When he looks up, he sees the lit-up windows of Ben and Jerry's around the corner. There weren't many people; just the odd crowd who liked eating ice cream during the winter. Without thinking much, he crosses the road and makes a beeline to the doors. 

The inside was as warm as the lighting, smelling of toasted coconut and slight buzz between the flurry of coats and hats. He orders a bottle of water first, drinking it one go until all there's left to do is crush the water bottle and aim it at the bin. Then, he lets himself slacken. There was nothing wrong with having some ice cream to not deal with things.

Wesley takes his cone into the corner of the shop without the luxury of a window; the token place for one and begins to concentrate on devouring it. He eats and watches people, wondering if their lives had taken a turn like his, if his life will ever take a turn in the future. There's a reason ice cream and sadness go together and Wesley will take good advantage of it.

Midst staring off into space, he gets a call from Louis that he ignores. Followed by one more a few minutes later. Another one comes along again. He doesn't need that right now; he doesn't need to know what they've been doing; if they've had their fill of crazy sex without him. 

Once he mulled an hour over his scoop of Strawberry Cheesecake, he goes back to the cash register. "Hi, could I have a pint of Chocolate Therapy," he asks, and adds on, "To go, please."

The cashier; a young woman with some sick ink, eyes him up and down. "Look like you need it, mate," and then she punches a few keys on her touchscreen and a bill spits out of the mini printer. Professionalism probably went down late into the night, so he doesn't let himself snap at her for her comment. He didn't want anyone other than himself telling him he looks like shit when he already knows.

He wordlessly grabs the bag of ice cream from a man with a hairnet and flies off into the bustling outside. He's walking back home when a vibration in his pocket that interrupts the swirl of thoughts in his head. He stops to the side and pulls it out.

 _Wesley_ , Louis has texted, _I have to be on my way. Something came up. Ttyl._

They won't talk later, he realises. It makes him laugh satirically. Louis hasn't signed off, he hasn't sent kisses. It's a reality check and it throws him off, even if it shouldn't. Because it's happened months ago and what was he thinking?

With the rue on his mind, he saunters home, as lackadaisically as possible. Maybe Harry was still there, maybe they could have really bad sex. Maybe Harry would be up for it even if he'll be disappointed. He's too busy fishing his keys out that he doesn't notice the folded note tucked under his doorknocker. He snatches it up and opens it. The crisp sound of it different in the silence.

_Hi,_   
_You've gone out for too long and I was frankly tired of waiting, and I don't think it would've worked. It was a good idea though. Hope you get to fulfil it with someone else! I'm so sorry._   
_-Harry_

Wesley draws a deep breath, so deep that his chest hurts with it. This wasn't what he meant when he told them not to wait up. Damn his door's self-lock. His plans have gone down the drain, but why would it make him tear up.

Perhaps because he knows that Harry is apologising for something other than up and leaving. He knows Harry and Louis had exchanged numbers. They could be making plans for another day, maybe tomorrow. Or they could be making a trip to either of their places for the night to fuck without him. Because they've excluded him from the equation.

Maybe Harry had more than one second of courage to ask Louis out. Enough to outrun Wesley's trial. He traded in his second of courage for Louis, and what did he get? Nothing. 

Louis hadn't been his for a while. And Louis himself knew that the minute they broke up, but Wesley was always so slow in catching up. The fact that Harry cemented the fact wasn't helping. The fact that Harry was supposed to be his stupid failed one-night stand. 

He knows the night might've changed Harry's life- he met Louis after all. Maybe he can see why he was worth the heartbreak one day.

Maybe he won't need to, because Louis would be the end of the line for him.

He shakes his head to himself with a sniffle, jams his key into the lock and enters into his empty loft. 


End file.
